


Derailed

by PunkyNemo (TheVampireCat)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl being a sap, F/M, Fluff, Humour, also an asshole, but a sweet asshole, light-hearted nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVampireCat/pseuds/PunkyNemo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all have their secrets. Some are just better at hiding them than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derailed

**Author's Note:**

> **Ok, so people who have followed me for a while know that I came up with this idea about two years ago. I never thought I was going to write it, but then[@sparks-of-greene](https://tmblr.co/mus9fRHkhHn4JJLKe0mWhNQ) got involved and well, disaster followed. The original idea evolved from Daryl and Glenn basically giving each other a hard time into a ludicrous discussion on how the aftermath of the “oh” scene could have gone down if we were to basically toss all logic out the window.  
> **
> 
>  
> 
>    
>  **And then I kind of realised that I can't really write humorous fic without tossing Abe in, so hey, I guess three very silly ideas came together into one little fic that has kind of felt a little ridiculous but also kind of poignant.**
> 
>  
> 
> **This could exist in the _Where the Tracks Meet_ universe, but can also stand alone. I might expand on it, I might not.**
> 
>  
> 
> **It's for[@sparks-of-greene](https://tmblr.co/mus9fRHkhHn4JJLKe0mWhNQ) you big nerd.**

He’s sitting outside at one of the picnic tables when he notices Glenn, bottle of water in his hand, making his way across the asphalt. He's little more than a shadow really, a black space of nothingness only discernible by one of Abe's goddamn bright-as-all-fuck spotlights shining down on him.

Abe apparently likes to “see things coming”. He doesn't seem to realise things also come because of what they see. The latest build up of walkers outside the Terminus fences is testament to this.

But they don't say anything. Abe’s generally well meaning, but his single-minded alpha male drive combined with a temper that runs short and hot means that for the most part they either ignore him or do what they want without letting him know. 

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Beth said earlier that day while they watched Abe fighting to arm a land mine Rick had long since deactivated.

Daryl agreed. Except for the forgiveness part.

Either way, Abe’s in a huff right now. He's not sure if it could still be about the landmine 

_(for God’s sake Judith is crawling)_

or if it's now something else chipping away at what he thinks must be the most fragile ego to ever exist, but they let him have his motherfucking spotlights. And he's seemingly using them to their maximum ability.

“Jesus Christ,” Glenn says as he gets closer, hand up to shield his eyes. “What the hell is he doing?”

Daryl shrugs, dropping a bolt into the table, picking up another tip and examining it. Eugene once asked him if he was whittling. Because apparently that's a thing.

“Guy’s nuts. Misses his fucking flash grenades or something.”

“Lumens,” Glenn’s voice drops into a deliberately bad imitation if Abe’s. “I want _all_ the lumens.”

Daryl’s mouth twists into a low smirk.

“Seriously he's going to bring every fucking walker in Georgia down on us,” Glenn throws himself down on a rotting bench next to the table and stares across the courtyard at the hastily erected guard tower where Abe stands. “Fucking joker.”

“Hey, you found him,” Daryl says, “brought him and his friends home like lost puppies.”

Glenn has the good sense to look sheepish.

“Yeah I guess.”

Daryl smiles. “We all bring something to the group. Guns, food, medicine. You, well, you brought Abe.”

Glenn rolls his eyes. “I'll try to do better next time.”

He chuckles. It's easier now. This. This banter. Not that it was all that hard before. But somehow he's found something in himself. Something good and decent. It's taken the edges off in some ways and hardened them in others. 

He won’t kid himself. Not much at least. He knows it's her. Knows that this ability he's finding in himself is equal parts a desire to be the man she believes he is and the man who'd fucking die to protect her. He thinks there’s probably a big overlap there. It's all very confusing. It's also not.

“Anyway,” Glenn’s voice is uncertain, faltering a little as he turns his attention back to Daryl. “Speaking of bringing things to the group…”

“Yeah I know Maggie’s knocked up.”

His words drop like a bomb, hard, fast and then silence as he realises too late that he shouldn't have said it, should have kept his goddamned trap shut. There are rules to this. Etiquette. It's not the type of thing you take away from someone. Give them their moment, they fucking earned it. 

But it’s done now. And he's about to try and say something to smooth it over as best he can when he catches sight of Glenn’s face. Shocked, confused and bathed in about a million of those lumens he was talking about earlier.

Frozen for what seems like hours, days even.

And then, the explosion. 

Inevitable.

Glenn kind of shatters all at once. His body, his face, his voice all dissolving into a kind of manic chaos that makes him look and sound like he’s disintegrating but also pulling himself determinedly back together.

“What… But how… When… Who said…” 

He’s struggling for words, mouth opening and shutting like he's some kind of sea creature now beached in the desert with no way home.

And suddenly Daryl realises just how fucking hilarious this is. Later he won’t really be able to explain why or how. Later he thinks this might have been one of those “you had to be there” jokes that people with tight bonds and loose laughs like to go on about. But now, right fucking now, Glenn’s face, Abe’s spotlights and well just the fact that they can have this conversation in a world gone to shit, is enough.

“You take your time man.”

So he's being an asshole. He _knows_ he's being an asshole. But he also knows he's been the subject of much discussion and innuendo of late. Knows that they all know he can't take his fucking eyes off Beth and people have been Watching and Talking and Thinking and Wondering. And all about things he wishes they wouldn't. So he's okay with dishing a little out when the opportunity comes his way.

Which judging by the sounds Glenn is making, it has.

“I just don't know how you can know,” he's saying. “It's not like she's showing,” he pauses, takes a breath. “She's _not_ showing.”

Daryl shrugs again, picks up another bolt, runs his fingers along the shaft.

“Known for a couple of weeks now,” he says. He has. There's no bravado there. Not really. When you get right down to it pregnancy doesn't need a well placed bump to be obvious.

“Jesus man, _I_ only just found out and you expect me to believe you've known for weeks.”

He glances over at Glenn. Glenn and his stupid happy face,

“Called observant little man.”

Glenn rolls his eyes.

“‘Sides my grandma used to keep sows before she died. Always knew when they were pregnant, could always tell.”

Another bomb. This one completely unintentional. And yet a million times worse than the last.

Okay, so he didn’t mean for that to sound quite as awful as it did. Or even a little bit awful for that matter. It's just another of those facts. He _could_ always tell. And his Grandma - God bless the old battle axe’s soul - would always ask him, trust his judgment on pig obstetrics. And he was never wrong. Well except now. Because even though he's right he's still wrong. Because goddamn it Dixon, there ain't ever a good time to compare a man’s wife to a sow. Not even if it's the prettiest, happiest, most pregnant sow in the whole world. 

Too late.

Not that much changes with Glenn. He's still gaping, mouth still stuck in a staccato pattern of opening and closing until he eventually just stops and stares, eyes wide and jaw slack. And the illumination of a thousand suns against his skin.

And then explodes as well as he can with something that's half mock anger and half something else.

“Jesus Christ Daryl. That's my wife you're talking about,” another pause. “My _wife_.”

And that's about as far as he gets. The rest is just word salad of barely concealed rage mixed with a good dose of hysteria writhing and wriggling just below the surface. He sputtering, saying something about feeding Daryl to the walkers like he did with Violet’s damn piglets and if he ever - _ever_ \- hears Daryl mentioning Maggie - _Maggie_ \- in the same sentence as pigs again, he’ll … Well he just doesn't know what he'd do… But it'll be bad. It'll be real bad. Because it's Maggie. _Maggie_. And you just don't get to talk about her like that… And if he ever does again, so help him… and he better not have told anyone else. No, not just what he said about the sows, but just about this, you know, the general this. The baby and all...

“Hey, don't get your panties in a twist. Ain't like I told anyone.”

That's not entirely true though. Beth, because well, it's always Beth, ferreted it out of him a week ago. Not that in her heart she hadn't known either. She had. She just needed to know that she knew. They'd been talking because that's what they do and she'd been happy and radiant and wonderful and he'd been trying not to notice when all of a sudden out of the blue she'd said that Maggie hadn't eaten all that much at dinner, nor at lunch. And now she was lying down and maybe Bob needed to check in on her because she's been saying he was feeling bad and…

She'd stopped. Dead still. He'd lifted an eyebrow. 

Nothing more. Not really. Nothing about sows or morning sickness or anything else. 

She knew. He knew. That's all there was to it.

And now apparently Glenn. Glenn who also knows. Glenn who is seemingly the last to find out. Glenn who has somehow regained his ability to form full sentences along with a little of his composure.

“So seriously, you just know by _observing_ ,” he leans on the last word. “Like we’re all open books to you, because you ah, like to watch.”

So sure the phrasing is a little dig but he let's it slide.

“Pretty much.”

“Pretty much,” Glenn echoes. “So you know everyone's secrets eh?”

“Some…”

So maybe he _is_ enjoying this a little too much. 

“So tell me what your elf eyes see,” Glenn lifts a hand to shield his eyes from the lights swinging round to shine in his face again. “That's if your corneas are still alive.”

To be fair, it's a good point. Someone's really going to need to say something about the wattage that being expended so recklessly. Someone. Sometime.

He lifts a bolt, examines the fletching, reaches for another.

“Okay. You know how Carl’s candy always goes missing and Rick thinks the kid just eats too damn much of the stuff?”

Glenn nods.

“Well, that's Michonne. Every two days she sneaks into his room and steals it. She has a stockpile of the stuff inside the old broken coffee pot in the kitchen. I don't know what her plan is but I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with saving Carl’s teeth. Thing is, Carl knows. He steals it back. It’s more of a game to see who can get caught.”

Glenn frowns, purses his lips.

“So you saw the woman with the biggest sweet tooth stealing chocolate…”

Yeah okay, it's not that impressive. He gets that. He knows other things too. Knows that Carol cries herself to sleep over something that happened while her and Tyreese were on their own. Knows that Tyreese can’t sleep and wanders the corridors at night, that Rick is terrified that he’s going to lose Judith, that he’s already lost Carl. But he can’t say these things. They cut too close to the bone. They’re too personal. Too deep.

And this isn’t the time. If there ever would be a time for these things.

“Abe sleeps in silk pajamas.”

He wants that to drop like a bomb and then linger for a while. 

It doesn't. Apparently his bomb dropping quota is depleted for the day. Glenn looks decidedly unimpressed. 

“I'm not sure I want to know how you know that. But okay. Go on.”

Daryl sighs. “Fine. Bob doesn't need his own room because he sleeps in Sasha’s every night. Tyreese always finds a way to charge his iPod so he can listen to “Hotel California” on repeat. And that's all he listens to. Tara makes jokes because still she's uncomfortable about what went down at the prison and she wishes Maggie would actually talk about it with her. And Rick sings in the shower when he thinks no one is awake or can hear, but you can if you're on fence duty near the west gate because for some reason the acoustics carry there.”

Glenn is silent for a moment, brow furrowed.

“What does he sing?”

“Huh?”

“What does Rick sing?”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “Mostly Whitesnake.”

“Oh.”

“Is he good?”

“No.”

“Guess you can only be as good as your source material...”

Glenn’s silent for a while and Daryl's not sure if he's still digesting this new information or if he's gone to that happy place where expectant dads go which walks a fine line between terrified and delirious. 

He takes the time to wonder about that. To think about what it must be like to bring a child into the world and how it's completely different and yet exactly the same as bringing a child into _this_ world. This world where the dead eat the living and well, he glances towards what's left of the boxcars, the living eat the dead. 

He can't imagine. He saw what happened to Lori, sees the worry now in Glenn’s eyes beneath the goofy happiness and he just can't imagine what it would be like.

If it was _her_. 

And then he stops, pulls himself back to the present because that's  so fucking ridiculous and so fucking out of the left field that he's angry at himself for even thinking it.

There's nothing there. _Nothing_.

And everything.

“So what about you Daryl?” Glenn’s asking.

“What about me?”

“What’s your deep dark secret?”

He gives Glenn a tiny smirk, turns away from the spotlights and starts sharpening his knife. Beth's been using it. Beth's _always_ using it, but apparently hasn't realised that he's taken it for now. He’ll give it back though. Wouldn't want her to be without it.

The silence stretches, the lights blind them again briefly and a welcome breeze touches his skin. It’s been so hot lately, so very hot and it’s only at night that the temperature is bearable and he can sit outside without sweating.

“So you apparently have no secrets,” Glenn says. He unscrews the cap of his water bottle, takes a sip.

Daryl shakes his head. “None that you need to know.”

Glenn shrugs, drinks some more water, watches the spotlights. He can swear he hears him start to him the first few bars of “Here I go again” and is about to tell him to quit it because he doesn't need two of them having a go at eighties poodle pop, when Glenn turns back to him, that semi-confused look making a reappearance on his face.

“I just don't know how you could know. I mean it's kind of impossible. She's not showing, she hasn't even been noticeably sick…” He trails off as, across the courtyard, the door to the kitchen opens and Beth and Maggie spill out if it, holding hands and giggling.

“Did Beth tell you?” Glenn asks suddenly. “Maggie said she hadn't told her, but sisters… well you know. Did she say something?”

Daryl stops. And he can't help that the “no” that comes out if his mouth is more defensive than he would have liked. He also can't help that he follows it up asking why _the fuck_ Beth would be telling him shit like this. And his brain is screaming at him to shut up and ignore it and pretend like Glenn had said anyone else’s name but his mouth keeps going because why would Glenn even think him and Beth would even talk, let alone about Maggie ... and babies ... and and and…

And Glenn is laughing. Good honest-to-God belly laughs while tears are streaming down his face. His stupid face. His stupid happy face.

“What so fuckin’ funny?” Daryl asks, but Glenn is doubled over on the bench and from across the courtyard Beth and Maggie - now both illuminated by that fucking spotlight - are watching them.

“It's just…” Glenn sputters, laughs again for what feels like ages. “It's just you think _that's_ a secret.”

He collapses in on himself again, arms grasped around his belly. 

He shouldn't ask. He does. “What?”

But Glenn is laughing so much he can't answer. And the girls are now heading towards them. And this is starting to feel like a really big joke and it's all on him.

“It's just … oh my God … it's just … you haven't been subtle, man.”

The blood rushes to his face, thick and hot, just as Abe swings the lights off of Maggie and Beth and focuses them back on him, illuminating him in white light. His red face no doubt standing out like a fucking beacon in the otherwise sombre courtyard.

This makes Glenn crow even harder.

He tries to gather himself, to pull it all back in, salvage this fucking stupid situation in some way. Not that there's much worth salvaging.

“Don't know what you're talking about,” his tone is enough to expose his lie. And Glenn knows it. 

He snorts, cackles some more and waves Beth and Maggie towards them.

“Sure you don't,” Glenn says. “You spend weeks on the run with her, decide to play house, but _sure_ , there ain't nothin’ there. I mean why would there be? Isn't like she's the nicest girl on earth. Isn't like she's smart and kind. Isn't like she's the one person here that isn't even the tiniest bit worried about you and your moods.”

Glenn slaps his thigh, descends back into some loose chuckles, wipes at his eyes. “I don't know man. For someone so _observant_ , you sure ain't good at reading the signs.”

“C'mon man.” There's really nothing more to say. He knows it comes out like pleading. Knows there's more than a hint of begging in his tone.

But apparently Glenn hasn't forgotten that he compared Maggie to a sow, nor that he stole some major ass thunder when he decided to blurt out that he already knew about Maggie being in the family way. A move he’s really starting to regret now. A move that’s really looking fucking stupid in light of recent events. A move that is not worth this level of Glenn Rhee’s bullshit.

“So, what?” Glenn is saying. “You were just gonna live in this little house together at the end of the world. Just you and her and a fucking piano and a little white dog?”

So Glenn knows about that. He’s not surprised. It wasn’t a secret. They all knew where he and Beth had been, how she got taken. But he wonders now how much else Glenn knows. If Beth had told Maggie about the white trash brunch, the way he’d carried her into the kitchen like he was a goddamned knight and she a princess. If they knew about “you know”. If they knew about “oh”. 

“But no, no, doesn’t mean a damn thing,” Glenn is saying. “I mean the fact that you two sit here at night and talk for hours and stare at each other with fucking heart eyes, holding hands under the table. I mean I guess that’s just everybody’s imagination.”

Daryl rubs the back of his neck, looks away. 

“It ain’t nothin’ man,” he hates the way his voice sounds. Soft, trembling, almost childlike. There’s nothing remotely convincing in it. And Glenn’s not done.

“Sure it’s “nothin’”. Nothin’ at all. You gonna hold her hand, stare deeply into her eyes, tell her there’s something about her. Something so special… and then what?” he stops abruptly. “Boop her on the nose?”

Glenn lowers his voice, makes it thick, raspy in what Daryl suspects is supposed to be an approximation of his own. “Oooh Beth, you're so pretty. Oooh Beth you complete me. Oooh Beth. Boop! Come on man.”

Okay so even in his red-faced denial he can see Glenn has something approaching a point but he has to admit that it could be fun to boop Beth on the nose.

“Watch yourself,” He has nothing. He knows he doesn’t. And it’s pretty much what he deserves.

“Or you'll what? Boop _me_ on the nose? Send me to bed without any supper?” He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Give me a wedgie?”

And it’s just so absurd. Glenn and his bad impressions, Maggie and the sows, booping Beth on the nose, that he can’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, can’t stop it breaking into a genuine grin as Beth finally draws near and Maggie slides into Glenn’s arms and perches on his knees. 

And he wishes they could do that too, wonders what it would be like if they did. If he just tugged Beth into him and pulled her onto his lap, rested his chin on her shoulder. And he wants to, he wants to so much, but he doesn’t. Not yet. Not now.

Instead she slips in next to him, jostles him a bit to move him along and the bench and grabs his knife off the table, fastens it to her belt.

“Sharpened it for you,” he says suddenly very aware of the strange lilt in his voice, the way he’s still grinning like an idiot for a totally different reason than he was seconds ago. 

She smiles, gives his hand a squeeze. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he’s aware that he’s staring. She’s all gold and porcelain in the light and probably the only person ever to look perfect in the billion wattage light that Abe is swinging around. He guesses Abe can have all the lumens if that’s what he wants.

“Maybe that’s your big secret,” Glenn says as Daryl wrenches his gaze away from her. “You really aren’t as scary as you pretend you are.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to find out,” he shoots back and suddenly it’s easy again. He slips back into himself and this no longer feels awkward, the four of them sitting here like this, Glenn’s gentle ribbing. He’s not quite sure what it does feel like, he’s not ready to call it family, but maybe something close. Maybe something as close as he’ll ever come.

“Yeah well maybe…” Glenn starts.

“Oh come on you two, we have enough over-indulged posturing going on from up in the cheap seats,” Maggie waves an arm in the direction of Abraham. “Please.”

It's enough. They both shut up. And it's nice. Quiet. The four of them sitting in the warm evening breeze, no real pressure to say anything, make that small talk he's so bad at.

And Beth shifts, moves so that her thigh is flush with his and he can feel the heat of her skin through her jeans, the softness of her naked arm against his. And she smells so good. Fresh and clean from the shower, droplets of water still clinging to her hair. 

He aches to take her hand. To reach for it and intertwine their fingers, rub his thumb along her flesh. So he does.

And it's easy. Easy like everything has suddenly become. She let's him as if it's the most natural thing in the world, as her little hand moulds to his like it was made to be there. 

It's dumb. He knows it is to think this way. To think that Beth Greene could see him as the man he wants to be rather than the man he is. But even so, just having this is enough. For now.

He looks over to Glenn and Maggie, where they're sitting, foreheads pressed close together, Glenn's hand laid across her belly.

“Glenn looks so happy,” Beth whispers.

He does. He really does.

Fuck him.

“So I guess Glenn told you our news?” It's Maggie twisting away from the light and towards where he sits with Beth.

Glenn shoots him a look over his shoulder that is equal parts pleading and warning. _Don't you dare say you knew. And if you say one fucking thing about your Grandma’s sows, I'll fucking rip you to pieces with my own teeth._

It's one look, but it says a lot.

And then Beth is also giving him a small shove with her boot, her little hand tightening in his.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah he did.”

And even though he knows that having a baby in this world is fucking nuts and probably about the stupidest, scariest and most wonderful thing you could ever do, there's a part of him that think Baby Greene is going to be as much wonderful trouble as his mother and aunt.

Because yeah, he's pretty certain it's a boy too.

“Gonna be tough,” Maggie says. “But we have Sasha and Bob, Carol...”

She trails off, looks over to Beth, small smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “Got my sister.”

“It's gonna be okay Maggie,” Beth says.

“I know.”

Maggie smiles, rests her head back on Glenn’s shoulder, closes her eyes.

They sit in silence a while longer, watch the spotlights sweep across the yard and then out into the woods. See Abe scuttling down from the tower and stabbing maniacally at the walkers shuffling to the fence before charging back up the stairs.

It's Rick and Carol’s shift soon and he suspects they're probably both going to lose their shit when they see the problem Abe has caused. Man’s a fucking menace, a walking disaster. And that's before you even get to that fucking mustache.

“We better get inside before we get some kind of sunburn from those lights and turn into radioactive walkers.” Maggie pulls herself out of Glenn’s lap. “You coming Bethy?”

Next to him - to his delight - Beth shakes her head. “In a bit Maggie.”

“Okay.”

They say goodnight - Glenn mimes whacking himself on the nose as they do - and head towards the their room, arms wrapped around each other and boots scuffing on the tar as they go.

“What was that about?” Beth asks shifting closer, so that he can see the blue lace frill on her shirt, the small beauty mark on her collarbone.

He grunts. “Glenn’s nuts.”

“They're doing’ good though,” she says and he might be dreaming but he's pretty sure her head is resting against his shoulder and he can feel her breast pressing on his arm. 

He nods, “Baby boy will be good for the group.”

She stops, looks towards Abraham and the sounds of dying walkers at the fence. “Vast improvement on the previous one.”

He snorts. 

She has a way with words Beth Greene does. 

She laughs and he can feel her body trembling a little as she does and he wants to put his arm around her, lean into it. 

“Thanks for letting Maggie think it was a surprise,” she says. “I know we've known for a while…”

She trails off, voice disappearing, body trembling. And then everything changes. She's no longer leaning against him and the light is shining right into her face so that he can see every hair, every pore. And she struggling to find the right words, which is ludicrous because this is Beth fucking Greene and she's never at a loss for words.

Never.

Except once.

Except when she said Oh.

_Oh._

So he waits. He’s quiet and nervous but he waits. Lets her gather herself, get her thoughts together. Maybe he should say something. Maybe. But maybe it isn’t about that. He’s not going to assume. He can’t. Not like he did before when he was floating on air and losing himself. Not when all he wanted was a damn dog to make her happy. 

“Daryl, there's been something I've been wanting to tell you for such a long time…” It comes out in a rush, words fast and quick almost tripping over each other. 

“It's okay girl,” he says softly. “It's okay.”

Even though it's not. Because this isn't okay and nothing's going to be okay. And he thinks he knows what’s coming and he has no idea how he’s going to answer it, how you even begin.

“It's just…” She trails off again and for a moment he thinks she’ll stop altogether. “It's just, we never got to finish our talk… I'd just… I'd just like to know what you were gonna do next. You know, after… Before the walkers…”

_Get you a damn dog. Make a home for you. Give you my heart._

_Boop you on the nose_ , Glenn’s voice in his ear.

So he shifts to face her, one leg resting across the bench, the other not doing a great job of anchoring him to the ground. He may float away. He just might.

“Girl…” It's all he manages to say before the spotlight shines fully into his face, blinding him as he raises his hands to shield his eyes.

And he knows, knows before they hear Abraham’s frantic voice that this conversation isn't going to be finished now, that they'll have to wait. Try again. Like they have all the time in the world.

Maybe they do.

And then Abe is yelling, shrieking about the walkers now pouring out of the forests, hurling their rotted bodies against the gate and fences. There's not quite a herd, not nearly that many but more than enough for a few people to handle.

The doors from the rec areas and dorms fly open and Carol, Michonne and Rick fly out, arms raised with blades and spikes. Glenn, Sasha and Bob come hurtling in from the west, near the bathrooms.

“We fucking told him,” Daryl grumbles as he stands, picks up the crossbow. “Told him those fucking lights were a stupid idea.”

There's more than enough of them to sort this out. They've dealt with far worse and for a moment he stops, looks at her, considers letting everyone else handle it while he handle this. It would be selfish. But maybe he's earned that.

He stops. Looks down at her. But she waves him away.

“Later,” she says. “It can wait.”

“Sounded important,” he reaches out, touches her shoulder. Smooth, firm.

He ignores Abe, the swinging lights. The shouting. The wet thwack of bodies falling and the grunts and growls of the undead. The way their stench wafts over him on the night air.

She shakes her head. She's beautiful.

“Was nothin’.”

And then she reaches up and he thinks she’ll cup his cheek, touch his face. But instead she gives him a small yet firm poke on the nose.

It's not hard but it takes him by surprise. And it's better than all the awkward conversations on the world. Maybe they don't need words. Maybe they only need this.  And then he chuckles, presses his forefinger to her nose, leaves a faint dirty smudge on her skin.

_Me too Beth, me too._

She grins. So does he. 

And then they turn together towards the light and go to fight monsters.


End file.
